1) Knowing her was an addiction. She’s like heroin; I’m still hooked. I would do anything to know her again. I met her when she was vulnerable and looking for her high school sweetheart. I was insecure, unstable, and from the wrong side of the tracks. I didn’t fit into her private school world. I was no Chuck Bass, I was South County trash. She couldn’t fix me. I hated myself, so I needed her to hate herself too. I emotionally abused her. I reinforced every PTSD induced cognitive distortion she had about herself and her ability to be loved. “You’re too fucked up, no one will ever love you except me.” I stood over her and threatened to kill myself if she left me. I would die without her. She was the reason I attended a prestigious, private university and pursued my passion rather than a career my parents chose for me. She was also the reason I was a fifth-year senior. She’s a one-way ticket to the psych ward. When she walks away your whole world stops turning. She’s the breath in your lungs. Her love is the only saving grace in a horrible world. I lied to her. I cheated on her. I lost her. No amount of weight lifting, money, or empty threats would stop her this time. She moved on and I couldn’t handle it. That’s why even after two new boyfriends and blocking me everywhere I still download the Text-Free app to harass her.

 

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2) Knowing her was a country song. She’s the one that got away; I’m a fool. Beautiful, crazy. I would do anything to change my answer. I met her when she was confident and looking for the other half to her Michigan love story and so was I. I was hopelessly romantic, immature, and from the city she loved but could never move to because she loved her family too much to be multiple flights away. She made fun of my name, can’t really blame her. She hit me like a hurricane. I wasn’t her type. I asked to hit her dab pen. I slid into her Instagram DM’s over an Old Dominion song. I bought a battie, a dugout, and weed to hit on her even though I didn’t smoke. I asked her to date party three months in advance. I played cat and mouse for a month, or two, or three. I stopped talking to her for a week after date party, the last week of school she came back to me. The first time I touched her was when she put her legs across mine as we sat on the balcony where she loved taking late night selfies in my snapback. I put my arm around her in the living room where the brothers watched the When it Rains It Pours music video on repeat and fought on Game Day. I kissed her in my bedroom. “Are you gonna kiss me or not?” she asked when we got back from the Brown Jug. That kiss was the definition of electric. I had sex with her in that same bedroom. I moved her out of her dorm and met her mom the next day. I asked her to be my girlfriend a month later. I drove across the country to see her. I wanted her to meet my family, she was a take back home girl. I thought she was the one. She had it all; all my love, my hugs my kisses. I told her she could name the babies, I’d name the dogs. She was the good stuff. I made her promises I couldn’t keep. I didn’t realize how easy it was to become codependent in college. I wasn’t capable of setting boundaries or expressing my discomfort. I loved her, but I feared her. I feared the day she would wake up and suddenly realize I wasn’t good enough for her. She wanted someone with goals and a plan. She wanted a family. She wanted forever. I wanted space. We were in a fight in my car when she asked, “Do you want to be with me yes or no?”, I didn’t respond. I broke her heart. She walked away. It always felt too good to be true, and that’s probably because it was. Even if I knew we’d end up living down the street from each other senior year and she’d send me a chocolate penis from dickatyourdoor.com I wouldn’t change a thing because knowing her was a blessing and a curse. I’d do it all again, even though we break up in the end. I would love her all over again, til it’s over. I would kiss her lips, drink bud light lime, and smoke all the weed til it’s gone if I could have her back. She got the boy and I’m sure one day someone else will get the man, but it won’t be anytime soon. She got the best of me.

 

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3) Knowing her is like living in an 80’s movie. She’s my Sussudio; I’m her Jake Ryan. I would do anything for her to see herself through my eyes. I met her when she was jaded, heartbroken, and reckless. I was a fuck boy. I had been with a lot of girls, but none of them were like her. I never planned on just hooking up with her, I always wanted more. She was a straight shooter, funny, smart, and beautiful. She’s the type of girl John Hughes wrote movies about. At first, she was like Ally Sheedy at the end of The Breakfast Club after Molly Ringwald gives her a makeover and the blonde jock thinks the crazy chick is hot all of a sudden; I was the hot jock. I asked her to be my girlfriend before she went back to Michigan for the Winter Semester. When she got back in Ann Arbor she slowly started to become ‘the basket-case’ from the beginning of The Breakfast Club, you know smashing goldfish on her sandwich and pouring salt all over it just to fuck with people. I closed myself off to her because it was obvious that she wasn’t completely over her ex. I visited her the weekend before Valentine’s Day for the rivalry basketball game, when I left she sent me a text that I thought meant she loved me; things got kind of weird after that. She loves harder than Samantha Baker crushed on Jake Ryan in 16 Candles. The two-year age difference between Jake (a senior)and Sam (a sophomore) doesn’t seem like that big of a deal, it really isn’t the older you get. However, there are some moments where the difference in adolescent affection and deep meaningful connection can cause trouble in emerging adult relationships. She’s more loyal than Sloane in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, and she likes my quirky friend. She’s more authentic than Andie in Pretty in Pink. She doesn’t dress much better than her sometimes though, especially when she wears velvet joggers, spandex, or heart belts. She’s hotter than Linda Barrett getting out of the pool during Brad’s fantasy in Fast Times at Ridgemont High. She’s has more “girl next-door” energy than Cindy Mancini in Can’t Buy Me Love. She’s the type of girl John Cusack was made to hold a boom box over his head for. She was everything I was looking for. I listen to 80’s music because it brings me joy, I try my best every day because she brings me joy. If that’s not love, then I don’t know what is.